Splinter
by Ista
Summary: Inspired by Season 3, Episode 10, "Home." Rick wanders through the prison in search of Lori, and Daryl volunteers to bring him back, no matter the cost. Plenty of walkers, broken bones, blood, and tears. Some crazy Merle too (gotta love/hate him)!
1. An Interrupted Sleep

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own anything related to _The Walking Dead._

**Other Stuff:** This is the first piece of fanfiction I've written about "Walking Dead." I was inspired by so many fabulous fics about this show that I couldn't resist writing my own. Enjoy!

**SPLINTER**

Daryl Dixon was dreaming about being buried alive. In the darkness, he could barely make out any features of his surroundings, only that it was dark and he couldn't move. He remembered feeling the thrilling tug of fear in his throat, and there was a deep stabbing pain near his left shoulder. To his surprise, he dreamt of someone else in the coffin with him, and he heard Rick's voice, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. Then there was a deep rattling explosion and a burst of bright white light.

"Hey, little brother!"

Daryl woke up with a start, his hands automatically reaching for his cross bow. In the early morning light, which shone through the prison walls, he found himself staring up at his brother, Merle.

"What is it?"

"Goin' huntin'. You in?"

"Are you _nuts?_ With the outer gates gone? There are walkers crawling around _every_ where, Merle."

Merle was edgy, as usual, as if suffering from perpetual withdrawal. "Gotta get me some _real_ breakfast. Had my share of this canned crap. And now's a good time of day."

"I'm gonna pass," said Daryl. "And you should too. It's unsafe with the Governor and his men about."

"I can take care of myself," the older man said, and there was a hint of wounded pride in his voice. Daryl suspected that Merle was up to something else but he couldn't say what it was.

"All right, then," said Daryl. "Let me sleep."

Merle shook his head, looking as if he needed to spit, and then changed his mind. A shadow passed across his face. In a minute, he was gone.

Daryl had almost drifted off to sleep again when he felt hands shaking him awake.

"Daryl!"

He jerked upright again, groggy, and rubbing his eyes.

"All right, all right. What is it?"

Glenn was at his side, and Carl too. They both looked worried.

"Rick's gone off again," said Glenn.

"Gone off?" Daryl asked, and then he motioned to Glenn, "or gone _off_ off?"

Glenn glanced quickly at Carl. "The latter. He was muttering something about Lori and went back into the unprotected cells. He wouldn't respond to Hershel or me. We've got to bring him back."

"All right," Daryl said and grabbed his bow. "I'll get him."

"I'm coming with you," said Glenn.

Daryl paused and put a hand up. "No. You've got to stay behind and lead. Protect the place in case the Governor comes back."

Glenn looked like he wanted to protest, then nodded. Daryl leaned down to Carl and flicked the brim of the boy's Sheriff's hat.

"You take care of this place for a bit, okay?"

Carl smiled grimly and straightened.

Daryl shook any remaining sleep out of himself, then walked away.

When he found Hershel, the older man was with Carol, helping to darn shirts.

"Did you hear about Rick?" the former vet asked.

"Yeah, I'm going after him." Daryl had the sinking feeling that he was going on a mission slightly beyond his skill levels and that Hershel might have some insight. "What's going on?"

Hershel sighed. "He's having delusions, and sometimes hallucinating figures. He sees his wife. It's the grief."

Daryl took a quick breath. "And what if he won't come back with me?"

"Use your best judgment," Hershel said, and heaved himself up on crutches, ambling towards a nearby cabinet. "Knock him out if you have to. By force or with these."

Hershel handed Daryl a small container full of white pills.

"They're painkillers. Give him one or two. Hopefully it will calm him down enough not to put up a fight."

"If I can calm him down enough to take one," muttered Daryl.

Carol looked up from her work with soft eyes, canny and knowing. "Be careful," she said.

Daryl winked at her, and then took her hand. How strange that you could feel hope in a handshake.

_Huh._

"I'll be back before you know it."


	2. Lady in White

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own anything related to _The Walking Dead._

**Other Stuff:** This chapter's super short, but the next is a doozy. Thanks for reviewing!

**SPLINTER Chapter 2: Lady in White**

Rick neither heard the walkers when they approached nor smelled the rotting tang of their putrid flesh anymore, but he sensed them fast enough to kill when it was necessary. Thrashing out with his knife, glinting in the dim light, he killed one, two, three. And through each stab and grunt of effort, he saw her form just down the corridor, swaying to a music he couldn't hear. He could almost touch the fabric of her white dress, and smell the fresh scent as he pressed it to his lips.

A walker crossed his path and Rick leapt with such force that the poor thing's head spun like a basketball on the tip of a finger, barely enough flesh left to hold it upright before its decaying corpse dropped to the ground. Blood trickled down Rick's face and adorned his neck like delicate red tattoos, running.

She kept moving, so Rick kept moving.

He cut the continuous walkers down like rats being exterminated in a maze. Yes, it was a maze, Rick thought. Lori was leading him out of this crazy mess, heading for the end of the tunnel, out of this prison, which held his mind more captive than his body. The prison could only ever represent death for him now.

As soon as Rick got closer to the shimmering figure, it would flicker and fade, appearing around the next corner. In this way, Grimes allowed himself to become lost until he began to forget where he was and whom he had left behind. What had he left behind? A sense of control? Leadership? No, he didn't have the right answers to be a leader.

Rick's decisive and realistic nature had always been asset to the police force. Now he chose a phantom over his friends.

The lady in white danced before his eyes, and he put a hand up to shield them as she led him towards an opening in the prison. He must have made it to the opposite side, where none of his group had been able to reach before.

The corridor opened into a larger area, obliterated by an explosion months ago so that the floor fell away and the ceiling crumbled. Rick didn't bother to look over the edge, but he guessed he was on the third floor. Finally there was fresh air, bird song, and sunlight partially hidden by a swatch of hazy clouds.

Although the different view was invigorating, the only thing Rick was aware of was Lori standing in front of him. This time, she wasn't going to run away. She stood clearly before him, gazing out with steady eyes. Her white dress glowed faintly, and Rick leaned in to touch her.

The tears came when he embraced her, and they didn't stop. Her body was cool to the touch, but it was solid, and Rick clung to her like a drowning man clutches a dinghy in the ocean. He only pulled away once to wipe the blood and tears from his eyes, amazed that he hadn't stained her dress at all. In fact, it shone even brighter.

"Lori," he said, forgetting his tears for the time being. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been there."

She said nothing, only smiled peacefully, her long dark hair floating gently in the warm breeze.

Rick leaned in again and lost himself in her peaceful embrace.


	3. The Break

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own anything related to _The Walking Dead._

**Other Stuff:** This chapter requires a leap from reality: Yes, I _know_ that solitary confinement cells probably don't have locks on the _inside_, but go with it. Enjoy!

**SPLINTER Chapter 3: The Break**

Daryl was not having a good day, and the walkers kept coming.

Luckily, Rick's path was easy to chart by following the trail of freshly slain biters, but Daryl had finally lost count of his kills.

Shooting three arrows in rapid succession, he then plunged his hunting knife into two closer corpses. They snarled at him, and he snarled back, barely perceiving how his reflexes had become attuned to fighting this new prey. It had become a frightening necessity.

And it was also kind of fun.

Daryl paused as the corridor widened and he checked his breathing, consciously noting his muscles flex, confirming that he was not already exhausted. He still had to bring back Rick after all.

As Daryl slashed into two once-elderly walkers, he realized that he didn't blame Rick for his recent nuttiness. There was a time and place to go a little crazy, and Grimes definitely deserved to display any lunacy he wanted to, especially after what happened to Lori.

Unfortunately, Daryl knew that the situation between the Governor and their group had become critical, and Rick was needed now more than ever.

Dixon was prepared to find Rick in a state of disillusionment, perhaps lost in a corridor and fighting his way out. Daryl was _not_ prepared, however, to find Rick in a place of undeniable toys-in-the-attic.

The hallway literally crumbled away and Daryl stepped carefully, shielding his eyes from the piercing sunlight. He felt each step before walking forward, aware that the floor he was standing on had little left beneath to support it.

It must have been dynamite.

As the prison gaped wide open, like an old wound that never healed, Daryl spied Rick ten feet in front of him.

Daryl immediately froze and all of the hairs along his neck stood on end.

It might not have been bad if Rick had been alone, caressing his dearly departed invisible wife. Daryl would have gently awakened him and the two could have dashed back together, back to the others and pretend-sanity.

But Rick was standing on the edge of the prison, totally oblivious of the fifty-some ravenous walkers directly beneath him.

_Well, shit._

Daryl moved stealthily, sneaking up behind Rick so as not to create more noise, and not to startle the ex-lawman.

"Rick?"

No response.

Daryl was well aware that they stood right above a dangerously ticking time-bomb.

"Rick," he said a little louder. "It's me."

He reached out and touched the other man's left shoulder. Grimes flinched slightly then turned around. Daryl stifled a gasp when he saw Rick's face: tear-streaked, blood stained, and eyes glazed. Rick looked like he had no idea where he was, and if he did, he didn't care. His eyes opened wide at the sight of Daryl, opening his mouth, but no words came out.

"We . . . We gotta go," said Daryl eventually, grabbing his arm.

Rick shook his head, innocent eyes again pulling at Daryl's empathetic side.

"I can't," Rick mumbled. "She's here."

Daryl said in a firm voice, "Trust me, Rick. We gotta go. _Now."_

Still, Grimes hesitated.

"What about Carl? What about Judith?"

And then, Grimes woke up, stiffening at the sight of the swarm below him.

"Rick! Wait!"

But it was too late. The walkers went into an instant frenzy with the heightened motion from up above, and Rick bolted, not taking into account the disintegrating prison under foot. He took one unsteady step, and suddenly the floor gave way. Crying out, Daryl grabbed his arm.

There was a split-second where Daryl Dixon knew exactly what choice he had to make. He could either let go, and allow Rick to fend off the horde of walkers, or he could go with him. Whether the choice was subconsciously made or not, Daryl found himself falling head first through the hole in the floor, right after Rick.

As Daryl fell through the air, in a manner of seconds before the break, he took in the full scope of their imminent problem: There were many more walkers than he had previously thought- about a hundred all around—and they were closing in fast. In fact, Rick fell on top of one, bashing in its skull with his boot as he met the ground.

Daryl didn't have as quite a soft cushion. He hit the prison floor in between his left shoulder and head. In one second, he heard something snap close to his neck, and a burning ache, like a whiplash flame, curled up and down his body. He cried out, rolling over and easing to a crouch-position. Lights were dancing in his eyes, but he hadn't hit his head as hard as his collarbone. Rotating his left shoulder even slightly caused intense and almost overwhelming pain. Just what he needed: a broken clavicle.

However, the tracker didn't have time to accurately assess his injuries before he was overrun by walkers. Immediately, he was at Rick's side. The older man lay on the floor, motionless. Daryl reached for his crossbow only to realize that it had flown well beyond his reach during the fall, as had Rick's knife. Frantically grabbing his own knife from his belt, Daryl felled two walkers just as they reached Rick. Even basic movement sent shockwaves of pain through his collarbone, and killing the walkers left Daryl breathless, his vision darkening and blurring.

But more were coming.

"Rick!" he yelled gruffly. "Get up! Get up!"

No luck. Grimes remained on the floor, unmoving.

_What now, genius? Is someone else going to save the day? __**You**__ were supposed to be the rescue party!_

When Daryl saw the oncoming mass of walkers, he realized that neither fighting nor running was going to be the answer. Instead, he noticed a small cell farther down the corridor with a sturdy-looking door and a bolt-lock on the inside.

There wasn't much time: He could smell the stench of the walkers, hear the snapping of their moldy jaws as they plodded along, and see his beloved crossbow lost in the throng of their feet.

Although his eyes watered in agony at the movement, Daryl held his hunting knife in his teeth and hoisted up Rick in his arms, dragging him quickly down the hallway to the empty cell. As he hurried, the flash of dead bodies ambled along after him. Daryl deposited Rick on the floor of the cell as lightly as he could, and then slammed the door shut after them, securing it.

Knife at the ready, Daryl stood before the metal door, his breath heaving raggedly in and out, in and out, faster and faster as the pain in his shoulder heightened. He waited until he heard the pounding of walker-hands on the door. They growled and scraped and groped, but they couldn't get in.

Dusty sunlight flickered through a small upper window on the far wall. The cell was _tiny_, and perhaps it was once used only for solitary confinement, but it would do for now.

Somewhat satisfied that they were in a secure place, Daryl could turn his attention to the fallen Grimes. He knelt down, grimacing at the movement, and turned Rick gently over onto his back. A red trickle of blood ran down the side of his head from a small gash that Daryl spotted through his curly dark hair. The fall must have knocked him out temporarily.

Or it was worse than he thought. Maybe Rick's concussion was more serious. Maybe he had suffered internal injuries. Maybe he was in a coma. Maybe . . . he was dying.

_Some rescue party you turned out to be! _ _Can't even bring Rick back alive._

Daryl felt tears welling up his eyes; either from pain, exhaustion, or frustration, he couldn't be sure, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand in annoyance. There was only going to be one way they would be able to get out of here alive: if they could think rationally and clearly. And that's exactly what Daryl aimed to do.

He took the water pouch from his belt and poured a miniscule amount over the cut on Rick's head, cleansing the area. Then he poured a bit over his lips, moistening them. Daryl picked up a ragged pillow from the one cot in the cell and put it under Rick's head.

When he stood up, Daryl felt dizzy again, and he leaned against the door until it subsided. The pain in his collarbone began throbbing harder and harder. He reached up with his right hand to feel for the bone, but he couldn't bring himself to touch it. Instead, he turned his attention back to Grimes, making him as comfortable as possible on the floor. He wanted to move him to the cot, but not being a doctor, he was afraid to cause more damage to the other man.

It was while he was leaning over him that Rick woke up with a start, causing Daryl to fall over onto his left side in surprise. Daryl cried out and Rick started upright, eyes wide like a wild animal.

"What happened?" he snapped. "What's going on?"

Daryl picked himself up and held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. "Woah, Rick. It's okay. We just had a little run-in with some walkers."

"Walkers?" the other man asked. "How many?"

"About a hundred."

Rick Grimes shook his head to clear it, and then ran a hand over the cut on his head. "What about the others? Where's Carl?"

"It's all right. We're on the other side of the prison from them."

Another loud bump on the door from a curious walker caused Daryl to flinch and he bared his hunting knife. His breathing heightened again, and he felt as if his heart was going to fly out of his chest. When did the cell shrink down to half its original size?

Rick's voice was suddenly very quiet behind him. "This is all my fault. You came after me."

The pain in Daryl's collarbone was now a pulsing flood that began to drown out the sound of the walkers as well as the sound of Rick's voice. Daryl spoke in between breaths as he turned back around. "No, it's not your fault. It just happened. It was an accident. I don't blame you . . ."

Rick then glanced up at him, his eyes narrow, clear, and scrutinizing. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Daryl managed, but he could feel his body shaking, and the world was turning brighter, each wall shrinking in upon him.

"You're hyperventilating," said Rick, and he quickly got to his feet beside Daryl.

"It's my collarbone," Daryl rasped, but then he could no longer control the pain that was beating against his chest, and his legs gave way underneath him.

"Daryl!" came Rick's voice from far away.

The last thing Daryl remembered before he drifted off was the feeling of Rick's supportive hands around his waist, and the words he muttered, almost as a curse:

"I'm so sorry."


	4. Claustrophobia

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own anything related to _The Walking Dead._

**Other Stuff:** Thanks for the lovely reviews! Enjoy.

**SPLINTER Chapter 4: Claustrophobia**

Rick was chastising himself so loudly that it was difficult to think straight. Walker hisses blended with his profanity into a somewhat comical sound. What was that saying? You don't know what you got 'til it's gone. Well, Rick had a sinking feeling that his little daydream-a-thon was going to cost his group not only his own life, but Daryl's as well. And what would Carol and Hershel and Glenn and the rest do without them?

Rick wiped blood out of his eyes and realized that his "group" was more than that now. They were a family.

And Papa Rick had royally screwed up.

Daryl moaned from the cot. Rick was instantly at his side, water pouch at the ready. He delicately pulled back Daryl's jacket and undershirt to reveal a small knot along his clavicle where a smooth line should have been. A huge purple bruise was forming around the swelling, running from his shoulder to the edge of the tracker's neck. Rick winced in sympathy for him. Although he had never broken his collarbone, he had once heard that it was one of the most painful bones to fracture.

"C'mon, Daryl," Rick whispered. "Give me a sign, man."

Almost on cue, Daryl's eyes fluttered open and settled on Rick. As soon as his eyes opened, the younger man groaned, grimacing in pain.

Rick said, "Tell me what you need."

"Prop me up!" Daryl said through clenched teeth.

Slowly, agonizingly, Rick helped Daryl sit upright, leaning against the wall as the rest of his body lay on the cot. Rick gave him some water to drink, and Daryl trembled.

The following silence seemed to stretch an eternity. Rick sat back and cleared his throat.

"So. How are you feeling?"

Daryl stifled a chuckle, and Rick sensed the other man's body stiffening, trying to adapt to the pain, but not succeeding.

"Like somebody took my arm by the shoulder and twisted it around a couple times. For fun."

As Rick took out his gun and checked his ammunition, he noticed Daryl's rapid breathing start up again.

"Hey," he said softly. "Nice and easy. In and out."

Daryl barely nodded. "I'm sorry. It's . . . not just the break. I've always . . . hated small spaces."

"Well, we're getting out of here soon. We still have my gun, and your hunting knife."

"Rick?"

Grimes was surprised at how soft Daryl's voice was. He had never seen this side of the hunter before. Even in the direst circumstance, Dixon had been a constant fearless force. When Rick knelt down to him, he realized that he was seeing fear in the other man's eyes for the first time.

"I can't move my arm. I can't help you."

Rick shook his head. "Then we create a diversion."

"With what?"

Grimes began pacing around the small cell. "You're right. We have nothing. What do you think we should do?"

Daryl shuddered again, his breathing ragged. "Give me your gun. You take the knife. We'll open the door and kill them one at a time."

Rick pursed his lips. "I don't know if that's gonna work, Daryl."

"Just try it!" Daryl shouted, and Rick was taken aback slightly at the force of his voice.

"Okay. Okay."

Rick handed his gun to Daryl, and then stood poised by the door. Still sitting upright, Daryl aimed with right hand, his left one hanging limply at his side. Rick raised his arm and motioned _one, two, three_ with his fingers before unlocking the door and flinging it aside.

Walkers poured through the door, more concentrated in one area than Rick had encountered before. For a split second, he hesitated. Then the gun Daryl was holding went off, and Grimes leapt forward, jabbing the knife into the next walker's forehead. However, after the fifth or sixth kill Rick began to realize that there was no way they were going to be able to take down all of them before the bodies piled up and they were buried in their own felled walkers.

Shivering, Rick yelled over to Daryl, "This isn't going to work!"

Daryl suddenly leapt from the cot and headed straight toward the masse, gun blazing as he went, swaying on his feet.

"Daryl!" Ricked cried, pulling him back and slamming the door shut again, crushing a walker's arm in the process.

Gasping, and covered in dark blood, Rick leaned against the cell wall and surveyed the recent damage. Fresh walker corpses piled the cell, but not much had changed.

_Except now the place smells like dead people._

Checking himself to make sure he hadn't been scratched, Rick then turned his attention to Daryl. The man was huddled on the floor in a corner of the cell, leaning over his hurt shoulder, and breathing rapidly.

As Rick cursed himself again for choosing such a plainly doomed plan, he was more afraid of Daryl's shockingly pale complexion than any walker he had fought in the past. Wordlessly, he helped the other man back on the cot.

"Daryl," he began. "I'm sorry. It was a bad idea. Are you all right?"

Rick became even more alarmed when the other man didn't answer. Instead, his eyes glazed over and his breathing quickened even more. At once, Grimes removed his belt and propped his head against the moldy pillow he had rested on previously. As Rick placed Daryl's belt to the side, he noticed a small bottle of pills inside one of the compartments. When he read the label, he realized that they were painkillers.

Grimes ran a sweaty hand through his hair and thought honestly about their options. In Daryl's present state, there was no way that they would be able to escape. However, if Daryl was able to rest for even half a day, he might gain the strength to try again.

Rick twisted open the cap and put two of the white pills in Daryl's mouth, giving him water to swallow them with.

Even though Rick had no idea if Daryl was completely conscious or not, he leaned over and said, "I'm not sure how this is going to end, thanks for finding me—for not giving up on me."

Rick was about to turn away when he felt a slight pinch on his arm.

Daryl was looking at him, and a half-smile crossed his face. Before he closed his eyes, he said, "You're welcome."

Rick waited until he was sure that Daryl was asleep, and then sat on the floor, flinching at the sound of the walkers pounding on the door. Would they ever stop? Would he and Daryl ever escape?Since when is a prison a safe haven?

_Since the dead started coming back to life._

Grimes pushed the thought out of his mind, and wrinkled his nose at the walker bodies piled beside him. No wonder Daryl was becoming claustrophobic.

The prison was a tomb.


	5. Rescued

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own anything related to _The Walking Dead._

**Other Stuff:** This is the last chapter of "Splinter." I think it's a good stopping place, but we'll see where my mind takes me late at night... Another "Walking Dead" fic might pop up in the near future. Thanks again for the wonderful reviews—you are all awesome!

**SPLINTER Chapter 5: Rescued**

Daryl was dreaming of being buried alive.

And then he woke up to darkness. A sliver of moonlight fell upon his cot and also upon Rick Grimes, slouched against the opposite wall. Rick's eyes were shut and his mouth was hanging slightly open, his knife still clutched in one hand. The sound of his even breathing was almost comforting in the stale and stinking prison cell.

For a moment, Daryl had to force himself to remember where he was and what had happened. His head felt light, his body warm, and his mouth dry. About four dead walkers lay on the floor just beneath him, oozing black blood.

The attack. Rick's delusion.

Daryl moved slightly and felt the stab of pain piercing through his shoulder as blatant as an arrow point.

_Oh yeah. And the broken bone._

Daryl rubbed his face, trying to shake the drowsiness of the painkillers Rick had given him hours ago. And then he relaxed back against the cot, trying to enjoy the temporary peacefulness of the space, even if the space might become his grave.

"I always thought I'd be able to get through something like this."

Daryl jerked awake, realizing that he had been drifting off again. He turned his attention to Rick, who was staring into the darkness.

"But when she died, part of me splintered and fractured. Like a—"

"A mirror," Daryl interjected.

Rick turned to him, smiling tiredly. "Exactly. And the pieces exaggerate some parts of your life and obliterate others. All of a sudden, she appears to me. And she's beautiful and young and she's talking to me. Daryl, she's telling me she still loves me. She's forgiving me. And it's all real. I'm not making this shit up."

Daryl realized that Rick was crying, and said, "I've never told Merle this before, but I saw our mom after she died. I used to see her sometimes when I was brushing my teeth at night. Or she would be at the convenience store down the block. Right when I was reaching to grab a soda or somethin', she'd be there. The first couple times she did it, I would freak out and run away. But then I got used to seeing her. When things got . . . difficult with my old man, she would be there. Mom never said anything, but I knew she was watching out for me, more than she ever did when she was alive."

Rick wiped his sleeve over his eyes, and nodded. "She must have loved you a lot to come back."

Daryl shrugged with his eyes. "I suppose so."

Beside him in the cell, his mother stood, young and smiling. She reached down to touch his hurt shoulder, and he fell asleep.

* * *

Rick had almost dozed off again when he heard a distant roar, a muffled sound like an old car starting. The noise made him sit up, checking on Daryl, still sleeping on the cot beside him.

Then came the gunshots right outside their door.

"Rick! Daryl!" came Glenn's voice from the outside.

Rick threw open the door and found Glenn and Michonne, weapons raised and breathless.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Glenn. "We thought you might be dead."

"How . . . ?" Rick had no words to express his astonishment. "What about the walkers? There must have been a hundred of them outside this door."

Glenn's face took a half serious, half amused expression. "You'd better come and see for yourself."

Daryl moaned and Rick turned back around.

"Is he hurt?" Michonne asked quietly.

Rick sighed, the full day's events beginning to catch up with him through exhuastion. "Broken collarbone. Help me get him up."

"We'll carry him," said Michonne quietly. "You lead the way."

But when they approached Daryl, he moaned again until Michonne knelt beside him, listening to his faint speech.

"My . . . crossbow."

Michonne related Daryl's message to the others, which caused a grin to break out on Glenn's face.

"Oh, don't you worry about that," said Glenn. "It's safe and sound."

Glenn instructed Rick to guide them downstairs, through the rubble of the prison to the outside. It was slow going because of Daryl's injury, and also because Rick was especially careful to watch where he stepped this time amid the crumbling debris.

At last, they had made it outside of the prison. Grimes breathed in the fresh night air, feeling free again, as if he had been reborn.

There was the muffled car-starting sound again, which turned everyone's attention to the fields immediately in front of them. Rick only had to go a few steps before he recognized what Glenn was talking about. The sight stopped all of them dead in their tracks.

"He did this all by himself?"

"Yep," murmured Glenn.

"_Je_sus."

Rick wasn't entirely sure where Merle had found a flamethrower, but he had one. And he had used it with artistic flare. Animal carcasses and bits of raw flesh blazed a clear trail from the prison across the field. In a direct line from the prison was a large metal cage, crudely crafted from bits of broken chain link fence. A walker hanged from the top of the cage, still alive, and _on fire_. The hundred other walkers were trapped inside with it, lured by the light and raw meat inside the cage like moths to a flame. It was definitely one of the strangest sights Rick had ever seen, and he couldn't help but stare in awe at it.

Meanwhile, Merle satisfied himself by dashing around the cage, stabbing a walker when he could, holding the flamethrower aloft like it was a sacred object, and whooping with delight. Rick had never seen the cantankerous man more alive. Standing some feet away was Carol, who was holding Daryl's crossbow, and had it trained on either the walkers or Merle, Rick couldn't tell.

When Merle spotted the group, he came running towards them, his face lighting up at the sight of his brother. Carol followed closely behind, picking up her step when she saw Daryl.

"Good to have you join us," growled Merle. "And, you're welcome."

"Who gave him a flamethrower?" muttered Daryl weakly, which caused all of them to laugh, except his brother.

"This is an M9, man," said Merle, who seemed to take offense at the comment. He swung the weapon around, stroking it. "They made these in the good old days of 'Nam. Swiped it from the Governor's stock while I was out hunting. Used my breakfast to save your ass, but I guess that's all right."

Daryl showed defiance the only way he could at the moment and stuck his tongue out at Merle. Afterwards, he wriggled free of Glenn and Michonne's helping hands, standing before Merle defiantly.

"So where's my crossbow?"

Carol reached the group before Merle could respond and quickly reached out to Daryl. Her eyes were full of worry and concern. "I told you to be careful."

Daryl grimaced at the pain her gentle embrace caused, but his eyes lit up when he saw what she was carrying. "And I told you I'd be back before you knew it."

"How bad is he?" Carol asked Rick frankly.

Rick shook his head. "I'd say his recovery will speed up significantly now that you found his crossbow."

Carol beamed and twirled it in her hands. "I found it in a corridor after Merle had lured most of the walkers out of the prison, but I was afraid that it meant . . ."

"That I had kicked the bucket?" Daryl muttered. "Not yet. Somebody's gotta keep an eye on Mr. Pyromaniac here."

Carol took his hand and he squeezed it gently back, just before he flinched and doubled over in pain. Glenn and Michonne got to him before he fell.

Merle set down his flamethrower, taking Michonne's place at his brother's side. Through Rick's tired haze, he realized that it was the first time he had ever seen Merle show some concern for his younger brother.

_Well, it __has__ been one of the weirdest days in recent memory._

"C'mon, little brother. Let's go on back and fix ya up."

Glenn and Merle helped Daryl back to the rest of the group, and Carol followed closely behind, her protective gaze covering every inch around them, crossbow at the ready as if it had always been at her side.

Rick watched the sight before him and began to laugh, soft and crazily. The walkers still buzzed inside their contained cell, and the one in the middle still swung from the top of the cage, smoking but producing no light anymore.

Rick picked up Merle's discarded flamethrower, looking it over as his laughter subsided. He wasn't even aware that Michonne was still present until she spoke.

"Been a long day?"

Rick thought about it. "It's been an insane, heart-splitting, strange, and shattering type of day. But I'm putting the pieces back together."

Michonne nodded, and the two of them walked back to the prison.


End file.
